


Litany

by CorpusInvictus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming, awkward pov switch halfway through, corpus fucks up her pov character sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:12:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpusInvictus/pseuds/CorpusInvictus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Star Trek XI Kink Meme prompt: "Vulcan destruction anniversary, Kirk found Spock alone staring into space. They were supposed to be just friends, but that didn't stop Kirk from taking care of Spock nice and slow, rimming him senseless. Hurt/Comfort." </p>
<p>Also includes the first sex scene I had written in over a year as well as an awkward switch of POV character partway through.  Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Litany

It's been almost a year since Kirk was awarded Captainship of the Enterprise and he thinks he's done all right. He hasn't caused any space-time anomalies, hasn't lost any crew members, hasn't exposed them all to some manner of uncontrollable plague. That's a job well done, in his book. But the Enterprise's crew is in the middle of a social meltdown. Chekov and Scotty have started up an intergalactic space-math cock-fight that either ends in drunken brawls or in having the dilithium crystal reactors inaccessible for hours at a time (for which Kirk really, REALLY does not wish to know the reason). Sulu has been sending transmissions back and forth with McKenna arguing over his position on the Enterprise. Bones is ... well, he's Bones, and he's going to be a grouchy bastard until he figures out that Uhura's been giving him bedroom eyes ever since her amicable parting from the Commander.

The Commander has become Kirk's rock, the only stable thing on a ship full of squabbling pilots and drunk doctors. A year ago he would have sprawled in his chair and enjoyed the train wreck, but the petty nature of it all just doesn't appeal anymore.

But one day, Spock fails to report for duty. Of course, this is Spock, so it isn't as though he just doesn't show up - he informs Kirk that he's indisposed and requests that Chekov take over his duties. And no one hears from him for the rest of the day.

Kirk's shift ends eight hours later. He ignores Chekov making a beeline for the chair the moment he vacates it and heads straight for Spock's quarters. It takes some grappling to get the computer to unlock the door, but it finally responds when he barks out his own override code.

Spock's quarters are nearly as nice as his own, though clearly Spock is more of a minimalist with a vendetta against the cooling system. He shakes off the heat wave and looks toward the bay window.

Spock is a lone figure there, sitting cross-legged with his nose inches from the fiberglass. He's expressionless as always, his eyes closed and his jaw set in what to anyone else looks like stubborn superiority, but which Kirk understands is simply Spock's status quo. There's no sound in the room, no breeze, almost no air at all.

"It is my understanding that most individuals request permission before entering an officer's quarters."

"Most," Kirk allows, walking over and sprawling gracelessly next to him.

A year ago there would have been intense discussion about personal boundaries and Kirk would have found himself booted from the room without Spock laying so much as a hand on him. As it is, Spock acknowledges Kirk's disregard for propriety without so much as a shrug of the shoulders.

"You were indisposed for this?" he continues in that same careless manner, waving a hand vaguely at the unchanging scenery. "If you wanted to stare at all the nothing going on, you could've done it on the bridge."

"I did not wish to expose the bridge to my current disposition."

He can't quite puzzle that out. "Which is different from your usual disposition, how?"

"Meditation is one of the pillars of Vulcan tradition, a practice we engage in when our emotions become too turbulent to control under normal circumstances. It requires focus and silence, neither of which can be achieved on the bridge."

Kirk somehow feels a scolding in there somewhere, but luckily he latches on to the more important part of the explanation. "So what happened that you had to take a day off to get yourself back under control?"

Spock's eyes have been closed throughout the conversation, and when he finally opens them to gaze out the window again, Kirk is taken aback by the utter misery apparent in them. The expression still hasn't changed, but his eyes say everything he needs to know. "Exactly one year ago, Vulcan was destroyed."

He's not usually that brief when he speaks, and it says volumes about his emotional state even if his eyes weren't already killing something inside of Kirk. He tries to think of something to say, tries to imagine what could possibly ease the burden, and winds up opening and closing his mouth several times in succession, at a loss.

"Much has been accomplished since then," Spock continues when all Kirk can produce is silence. "My counterpart has been indispensable in his efforts to find a new planet to colonize. Construction of our new home is well under way and we have made contact with several Vulcans across the universe so that they may return to our new home."

"You made contact with a lot of those Vulcans yourself," Kirk points out, grateful to have something remotely useful to say. "You've been a huge part of the rebuilding, and not just because of that older version of you."

"It does not negate the fact that billions of my fellow Vulcans died. It does not negate..." He trails off, unable to finish.

He doesn't need to. Kirk remembers it clearly, remembers when Spock reappeared on the telepad, arm outstretched, reaching for the woman he could not save. Years of repression and control could not mask the grief on his face in that moment.

A year ago he would have nodded his understanding and left him to his meditation. A year ago, though, he would not have considered himself this man's friend.

He moves closer in a vague attempt to be comforting, to offer a shoulder to a man he is certain won't accept it. "It's not something you just get over," he says quietly.

"Meditation should assist in controlling these emotions once I am in the presence of others," he returns, and Kirk is surprised at the edge of sharpness in his voice. "I have engaged in the practice for several hours now and I cannot... I cannot seem to focus properly."

He rests a hand on Spock's shoulder, squeezing affectionately. "Then stop," he offers easily. "If it isn't working, just stop."

"It is not so easy as you might suggest." The sharpness is still there, but he's shifting very subtly into Kirk, accepting the gesture of friendship. "I cannot report for duty tomorrow if my thoughts are focused solely on the endangerment of my people or the loss of my mother."

"You don't have to report tomorrow. Chekov's having a great time making eyes at the chair. He can't wait for me to be incapacitated so he can sit in the big boy seat and order Scotty around."

Spock takes in a long-needed gulp of air, letting it out in a quiet breath. "I wish to," he murmurs. "It is ... disgraceful to sequester myself in my quarters over such a matter."

"There's nothing disgraceful about grieving."

"Vulcan cultural norms would suggest otherwise."

"Well, you're not all Vulcan."

The temperature in the room stays the same but Kirk suddenly feels brittle cold prickling over his skin. Spock has exploded from his seat on the floor, the misery in his eyes turned to steely fury. The hand Kirk had previously laid on his shoulder has been twisted against his back so quickly that he feels the pain of it before he realizes the cause. "Would you care to repeat that?" he whispers, and it is the deadly calm in his voice that is unnerving. He'd be less terrifying if he was screaming.

He grimaces his way through the aching throb in his arm, hoping he hasn't pissed him off enough that he'll think about dislocating it. Stupid to say it so carelessly without explaining himself. "It wasn't an insult, you idiot," he retorts.

"Enlighten me."

"Don't get me wrong; if you're strong enough and fast enough to just about break my shoulder before I even feel it happening, you're definitely Vulcan." The pressure on his arm eases the slightest bit. "But you're human, too. Humans grieve when they feel loss. There's no shame in it."

The pressure eases a bit more, and Kirk realizes for the first time that his face is only a breath away from Spock's. He's close enough to see the faint green undertone in his skin, the thick lashes framing his dark eyes, the trembling twitch at the corners of his mouth. He can feel the slight warmth in the air on Spock's every exhale.

He's not sure which one of them closes the gap between them, but it doesn't matter. Suddenly he is being kissed like he never has before, a gesture of desperation, sadness, loneliness. Kirk's arm is freed with a sudden rush of pins-and-needles surging through his blood, but it's not enough to distract him from raking his fingers through pristine black hair.

The next few minutes are a flurry of movement. The kissing, the insistent press of lips on lips and tongue battling tongue, distracts from the attempts to undress one another, but they manage to soldier through the problem. Kirk tastes copper and salt on Spock's skin as he tastes along the man's jaw and down his neck, pushing and pulling at his clothing along the way.

He doesn't let Spock divest him of anything beyond his shirt before pulling him to the floor. Despite superior Vulcan strength, Spock lets him. Kirk nudges at him until Spock is face down on the floor, head supported by folded arms, gazing down at Kirk with an expression hovering between his earlier misery and utter bewilderment.

"Don't look at me," Kirk says roughly, trailing calloused hands along his arms, tracing his shoulder blades, following the slight curve of his spine. He nods towards the window, the inky black night sky, the stars. "Look out there."

"Yes, sir."

"Jim," he reminds him with a gentle bite to the nape of his neck.

There's the sound of a sharp inhale before Spock speaks again. "Jim," he whispers.

The next sentence is punctuated by a series of licking kisses down his back. "Stop trying to control everything you feel," he mutters. "Stop repressing it. Stop ignoring it. Just let it go." Spock shudders when Kirk leaves another open-mouthed kiss just where the curve of his backside begins. "Let it go," he says again, hands pressing into the cheeks and parting them, kissing a bit lower. "Let it go."

It becomes a meditative repetition, a litany as Kirk makes his way to the deepest center of Spock, one Spock continues to hear even as the audible speech stops and the long, probing licks begin. Kirk has both hands wrapped around his hips, guiding them up and into his movements, giving him better access to his current obsession.

All the focus and control in the universe can't stop Spock from spreading his legs as wide as they will go, from digging his knees into the floor to give him enough leverage to thrust back into that maddening, teasing tongue. Since he cannot control his body, he tries instead to control his mouth, and finds he is failing at both. He hears a low keening reverberate through the room and it takes several of them before he realizes they are his own.

His breath hitches dangerously when Kirk switches tactics, from laving the area up and down with his tongue to actively pushing it inside of him. He tries to twitch away from the contact - he cannot be known so intimately, cannot let someone undo him so completely as this - but Kirk only follows his movements with characteristic stubbornness. That low keening echoes against the fiberglass of the window, the stark whiteness of the walls, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the flood of feelings within him.

"Open your eyes." It is ragged and sloppy and it interrupts the exquisite sensation of Kirk working his tongue up into him again. He shifts restlessly, his body wanting that feeling again and his mind horrified at his shameless display. Nevertheless he obeys, staring out into the stark vastness of the stars, breath dragging out of him in hoarse shudders.

"Let it go," Kirk says once more. And oh, there is the roughness of that tongue licking a hard stripe down his core before teasing at his opening, coaxing his muscles to relax enough to let him delve inside him again.

He feels, he _feels_ that tongue like he's never felt anything in his life, feels it filling him, learning him, branding his insides. He cannot fathom ever feeling more desired, owned, cherished then he does right now. When Kirk fits his lips over him and sucks at all that tender skin, he bucks his hips wildly and lets out a sound that is dangerously close to a sob. Then he does it again, and the view in front of him shatters. What was an utterly black sky dotted with a few tiny pinpricks of light implodes into a white supernova of euphoria, and he comes all over his pristine white floor without even being touched.

He is dimly aware of Kirk slowly lowering his hips back to the floor, of kisses dotting along his spine again, of a decidedly male figure lying next to him and pressing an impressive erection against his hip. His body shudders at the feel of calloused hands pulling him in closer, at a slightly crooked nose pushing into his hair. His mind races to get the rest of him under control, his breathing still a hitching betrayal of all he has lost and all he seems to have gained.

When he believes himself to be under control again, Spock turns slowly to face him, unsure of what to say. He blinks when Kirk brushes a hand over his cheek and comes away damp, but he makes no mention of it and Spock feels a new surge of gratitude for it.

"Better?"

His mind races for an acceptable answer. _It seems the release you have given me has assisted me in way meditation could not. It had not occurred to me to indulge in baser carnal desires in order to purge myself of my earlier distress._ But all he manages to produce is a quiet, "Yes."

It is enough.


End file.
